


The Old Flame (Do You Wonder...?)

by alicekittridge



Series: This Is Where I Leave You [3]
Category: The Last of Us
Genre: A sprinkle of humor here and there, Angst, Character Study, F/M, Feelings, Other, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Present Tense, Sexual Content, descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicekittridge/pseuds/alicekittridge
Summary: "What happened between you and your friend?"Abby examines her feelings.
Relationships: Abby & Lev, Abby/Owen
Series: This Is Where I Leave You [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829836
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	1. Falling In

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since my last work, I do apologize. I've been replaying the game in order to attempt to really capture the characters for this work. I do hope it'll pay off. 
> 
> Rated M due to the second chapter. Tags will also be updated accordingly. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading xx

**Seattle**

**Present Day**

**T** hey pause inside a wood-covered room, re-orienting, breathing. Across the way, Lev tucks his retrieved arrows into their quiver, not bothering to clean away the sticky blood. He doesn’t, Abby thinks, rather enviously, look at all frightened. He glides through heights as if he’s floating on air. Dances across scaffolding and concrete ledges only two feet wide without worrying anything will upset his balance. All without the world swimming in nauseating circles.

“So,” says Lev eventually, “what happened between you and your friend?”

“You’re still asking?” says Abby, taken slightly aback.

“I can see your face. You hide things well, but it’s in your eyes. They’re conflicted.”

Abby sighs. The wind gusts, rattling cables, making the building groan. “How about this,” she says. “I’ll tell you what happened between us—sparing some details—if you tell me why the Seraphites are hunting you and Yara.”

Lev nods. “All right.”

But where to begin? Abby wonders, mind circling back to the orange-colored passion of the night before. The fight that had preceded it. The nakedness.

She says, “We had a falling out.”

“Falling out?”

“A fight,” she clarifies. “He and I… didn’t see from the same perspective anymore. He ran. From everything. It was a mess.” She shakes her head. “He doesn’t want to be a Wolf anymore.”

“Why?” Lev asks.

“He said he was tired of it. Couldn’t give a fuck about it even if he wanted to.”

Lev is silent. “Does he regret killing people?”

Abby nods. “He uh… almost killed one of you.”

“What stayed his hand?”

“The man was an elder. Weak from a wound, already giving in to death. He killed a Wolf to defend the old man.” A pause. “So human, isn’t it? When the rest of the world sees us as trigger-happy bastards.”

Lev’s frown is one of concentration. Trying to understand, seeing another point of view besides the one he was brought up in. He says quietly, “You’re doing what you have to. Following in his steps.”

They’d be considered deserters by now. Their friends are their enemies, save for a few. There are targets on their heads, placed there by Isaac, who views deserters as harshly as he does traitors and outsiders. In their own ways, she and Owen laid down their arms and gave it all up, he for the sake of not killing, she for the sake of saving two kids who deserted their own, too.

“Your turn,” Abby says. “Why’s there such a big price on your heads?”

“There’s not money on our heads,” Lev says.

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Metaphor?”

“Never mind. Why are they hunting you?”

“Because I’m a boy,” Lev replies.

“Okay…”

“I mean,” and the next words are a struggle for Lev to say, “I-I’m a boy, and I’m not supposed to be.”

The puzzle falls into place in a series of images: flashes of Seraphite men and women, how the men had shaved heads and the women’s long hair was braided and wound and pinned on the top of their heads, like a crown; the heated shouts of a name not responded to.

“You are supposed to be,” Abby tells him, “because that is who you are.” She pauses, chooses her next words carefully. “Did you know for very long?”

Lev nods.

“From what age?”

“Young,” he says. “I tried to hide it. I hated every minute of hiding.”

She wants to put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to hide from me. Or Yara.”

The encouragement perks him up a little; he’s standing a little straighter. “I know.” He peeks around the corner. “Did you… Mate with your friend?”

“Hey, time out, kiddo,” Abby says, yet heat rushes to her face. “Don’t say it like that.”

“You so did.”

“All right, yes. I did.” She turns her head into her shoulder, hiding a chuckle. “I’m not even going to ask how the fuck you knew that.”

“You walked around him this morning,” Lev says, “like you didn’t want to be there.”

“Do people act the same on your island?”

“Yes. Especially if they’re in love.” He pauses. “Do you love him?”

Love. A word that’s thrown around by many. It shows on people’s faces, rules their actions and their loyalties, haunts them at night like a pesky ghost hovering over their bed. She knows attraction and its laws, can feel it pulling her to the person as if they’re opposites on magnets; knows that she’ll desire them to the point of masturbating about them, or sleeping with them, but loving them? Loving Owen? What is it supposed to feel like? She enjoys his company. His presence is grounding. He makes her laugh. He’s a good soldier and an even better man, pain in the ass tendencies be damned. Abby takes a breath. “I don’t know if I feel that,” she admits. “Not only towards him.”

“Love has many forms,” Lev says. “But _in love_ is different, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Abby says, her voice quiet. “I guess so.”

The building groans again. The wind has picked up; if they linger here any longer, it’ll be too intense to scour the rest of the heights. She pushes herself away from the wall. Says, “We should move.”

“Stay close to me,” Lev says, taking the lead. “And don’t fucking look down.”

Abby smirks. He really likes that word.


	2. Do You Wonder Where I've Been? Where I'll Go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels odd to be writing a scene like this, as I normally only write WLW content. I hope I pulled this off, too. 
> 
> This chapter contains: Sexual content, and mentions of graphic violence. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading xx

**Seattle**

** 3 Months Earlier **

**S** now fell in a steady stream of flakes, turning the world into a static screen on a television. They melted to water on Abby’s coat, sliding easily off the material. They would stick soon, if the temperature kept dropping. Snow from other, longer days lay piled and untouched outside; the only disturbed snow was close to the base’s main gate, where tire tracks and footprints were in abundance. Towards the aquarium, there was nothing, only smooth sheets, interrupted only once she went around the back. The boot tracks were hours old. So, she thought, turning the icy knob, Owen didn’t go out after all. Fucking homebody.

She made her way to the warmest room, the one they used most often; there would be electric heaters plugged in, a comfortable sofa, maybe a drink, if she was lucky. She knocked once before pushing the door.

Orange light greeted her, and the smells of cinnamon and cream. And there, by the window, taking in the quickly falling darkness, was Owen.

“Were you victorious?” he asked.

Abby stomped the snow from her boots. “Fucked them up good,” she said. “You missed all the fun.”

“I wasn’t needed.”

“Maybe not, but you add strength.” On a table near the couch, there were various bottles of liquor and two mugs of some steaming substance. Abby plucked one mug up, cupping it between her hands to warm her stiff fingers. “What’d you make me?”

“A hot toddy.”

“A what?”

He turned and plopped himself on the couch with a groan. “A hot toddy,” Owen said. “It’s water, lemon juice, honey, whiskey, and cinnamon.”

“Should I ask who you stole the ingredients from?”

“A mutual friend.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“You’ll feel less guilty once you try it.”

She did. The flavors danced and blended perfectly, and the whiskey warmed her in seconds. “Fuck.”

“Heavenly, right?”

“Sinful,” she said, and sat beside him. “You and Mel going strong?”

“Smooth as a train.”

“I’m glad.”

“Are you?” he said. “You seem to dance around her.”

Abby scoffed. “You know how she is,” she said. “Always has her head filled with work. Or Alice. You’d swear the dog was her fucking kid.”

“They’re kids with four legs.”

“Whatever.”

“You’re not jealous?”

“ _We,_ ” Abby said gesturing between them, “are not a thing. It’d be wrong of me if I were jealous. And,” she added, “you really could do a lot worse. Mel’s a good person.”

“So are you,” Owen said.

Abby shook her head. “I’m hunting the man who killed my dad. I’ve fucked up a bunch of Scars. I’ve shot trespassers.”

“You and everyone else in this facility. It’s called surviving. It doesn’t express what’s on the inside.”

“What if it does?” she questioned. “What if actions do speak as loudly as everyone says?” A heavy silence settled between them. Was it the whiskey in the drink making her this brave? “Manny called you a pussy.”

A half-amused smirk tugged up the corner of Owen’s mouth. “Did he?”

“Him and the others. They said you’re going soft.”

“So what are _you_ saying, Abby?”

“That they might be right.” Her next sip was too large. Her tongue tingled with scalding. “You still want to do this, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Owen replied around a sigh. “I’m only worried how far you’ll take it.”

“As far as I have to.” A pause. “There’s a lead.”

He nodded. “Jackson, Wyoming. Jordan told me.”

“We can still convince them to follow us. We’ve already got Jordan, Manny, and Nora on our side.”

“I’m sure we could,” Owen said, holding up a hand, “but… can’t we just set it aside for once and have a normal day?” There was tiredness in his eyes. It showed underneath them, too. And his face, usually so glowing, was downcast, almost sad-looking. Abby sighed and scooted closer to him.

“What’s happening to you?” she questioned softly.

“Nothing’s happening to me.”

“Owen…” She placed her mug on the floor and took his face between her hands. His brown-red beard was scratchy. There was a time he’d kept his face clean-shaven; it’d been soft to touch, even pleasanter to kiss, but the look suited him. It made him rugged. “Tell me what’s going on.”

His hands settled on top of hers. They were warm and calloused. “Do you ever feel like it’s too much?” he asked. “The Scars, the trespassers… Our use of force?”

“It’s necessary. The Scars violated the truce, the trespassers come in and think they can take what they want. It’s defense.”

“Is it?” Owen said. “Or is it trigger-happiness?”

“You’re questioning what we have to do.” His expression was guilty. She asked, as gently as she could, “Are you saying you regret killing them?”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “You remember those kids? The ones we shot?” She nodded. “They live in my head. They’re in my dreams. All their faces just… floating there, bloody and caved in. I see the kids running around here and they just morph. I can’t go with Mel to the parents’ quarter… They were _kids,_ Abby.”

“ _Scar_ kids.”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re really sympathizing with those freaks?”

“Abby,” he said, sitting up straighter, taking her with him. “If they came in and shot the kids here, we would violate the truce, too.” His hands found her face. _Look at me,_ they begged. _Listen._ “Who are we if we kill innocent people?” he questioned, voice quiet. “What does that make us?”

She was vexed. There was glue on her tongue. Her chest ached, but Abby couldn’t name the feeling. She whispered, “You’re freaking me out.” She used to joke that he was born in the wrong era, being so philosophical at every turn, and though she would let it slide, she felt she couldn’t do it. Not this time.

“More than when I ‘slipped’ off the Ferris wheel?” he said, his half-smile sad.

“Yes, more than then. But I should’ve realized I needed to take you seriously.” She sighed. Asked, “I need to know I can still count on you.”

He leaned closer. “You can always count on me.” He pressed his lips to hers. She returned the kiss, keeping it soft, sighing into it.

“Kissing me won’t make me forget,” Abby murmured.

“Sometimes I wish it would.”

The kiss continued for minutes, becoming heated. Abby pulled away slightly, hands on his chest.

“What?” Owen said.

“I can’t,” Abby replied.

“Can’t...?”

“Be the other woman. You’re with Mel, now. It’s a real, solid relationship.”

“I know,” Owen said. His thumb brushed her cheek. “But part of you doesn’t care, does it?”

Her father used to read her a poem about a road diverging in a wood. She was in that wood, now, but instead of diverging into two paths, there were multiple, and rather than leading to places, they were feelings and logic, becoming scrambled. There was still something for Owen, after all this time; something like tenderness. There was a feeling of wrongness, not at the action and the pleasure it sparked, but at the subtle betrayal of Mel’s trust—in both of them. He was right, however. A small, bitter part of herself didn’t give a damn.

Abby turned away to untie her boots. She said, softly, “Part of you doesn’t, either.” She jerked her chin to his feet. “Those come off.”

He obeyed. He lay back on the sofa, allowed her to clamber on top of him. Carefully, he reached up for her braid, fingers working at the ponytails. “This comes down.” He tugged gently until they were free, and then fiddled with the bobby pins. It felt strange to have her hair settle on her shoulders. Owen stared for a moment too long.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” Abby said, kissing him again.

“You did it first,” he countered.

She tugged his sweater up; he helped her get it off. “How do I look at you?” she said.

“Like you’re not sure you want to punch me or kiss me.”

She leaned to whisper in his ear, “I could do both and see which gets you off,” and reached down to undo his belt.

She could have questioned him more, pressed further in the moments of his vulnerability, but it would’ve been the needle to the bubble, one Abby wasn’t ready to pop, too lost in the closeness of their skin, the mingling of breaths and curses and steadying hands, how the faster pace flushed out every thought.

The world was a vignette, shadowed at the edges, the brightness on the man underneath her, his mouth forming the words “Slow down” but still taking the pace despite the weak demand. Her hands tensed on his chest as he did, and as he curled up into her, coming, Abby held him and wondered where he would go.

**—**


End file.
